What does paradise look like? I couldn’t help but wonder. Not so long did I begin to picture what paradise might look like. My picture may not be close enough to what paradise looks like, but I loved what I saw. It was more than okay; it was perfect. I pictured a place where mountains climbed high to the sky; a place where the trees grew side by side as if they were holding hands. I could see the birds fly in and out of their nests. Their feathers were colored in colors I had never seen, here on earth, on any bird. They were adorable.
A leaf fell from the tree, on my shoulder and later to the ground. I bent to picked it up, but as I was doing that, tiny particles of the sand found their way into my finger nail. As I was stripping them out, I remembered that for man to get to paradise, he must die. Man must leave and never to return.
I wasn’t trying to be negative minded; I was only being realistic. Death is inevitable so it’s no crime if I spend sometime thinking of it. I thought about the day I would leave and never to return. The day I would depart from earth and “earth” would still remain “earth.” Mountain Kilimanjaro wouldn’t fall for I’m gone. And Everest would definitely not weather for I’m no more. The sun would still rise in east and set in west. The sea and the ocean would still flow regardless of who, on earth, is no more. Thousands of people would still go by my names for I’m dispensable.
I looked into my old bag and brought out a card I got from a friend. On it was written: “What matters in life is the number of people you made happy or sad.” I thought about the people I made sad. There number was countless. I thought about those I made happy. That also was countless. I was glad I made them happy. I felt sorry for my bad deeds. I felt bad for the pain I caused them. Was it their destiny or my fate? Was it my fate to cause them pain or their destiny to fall my victim? Why was I meant to play that role in their lives? Why not something else? Was it because I could play the role better than anyone?
If I had to leave unannounced one day, who is going to right my wrongs? Who is going to restore the joy I stole from them? Who is going to undo the pain I caused them? Many answers rushed to my mind: In my last days, I would crawl to them and ask for forgiveness. I would take advantage of every chance I get to convince them that I’m a transformed being. I would sleep and wake at their door steps until my apologies had been accepted.
But the last questions seemed to over throne my answers: Why wait that long? Why wait for your last days before righting your wrongs? Why not now? I had no answer to that. I actually didn’t want to answer that because I wanted to buy myself into believing that I’ve a good reason to wait.
Soon, it was time to go. I dropped the leaf, backed my bag and moved on.